George's Gloom
by Arianna Waters
Summary: A collection of drabbles written from George's perspective after Fred's death.
1. That Coat

Prompt: Khaki

W.C. 414.

* * *

 **That Coat**

George finally ran his hands at the lock on the room across from his. It had been twelve years to the battle, but his battle wounds had not healed yet. Today, he was determined to see through his— _Fred's_ things and give them away to someone who needed them.

The twelve years of rust in the rock fell out with a click. He opened the bolts with a wave of his wand and pushed the door open.

He wanted to close his eyes and turn back, but he forced himself into the room.

As his right foot crossed the periphery, the old days flashed through his mind.

" _Don't worry, Harry, you'll be fine," he said._

" _Yes, we will try our best not to let any bulger come close to you," said Fred._

" _Just keep looking out for the snitch_ —"

"— _and we'll have this match in the bag!"_

George remembered holding up the Gryffindor cup with Fred, and then offering everyone the butterbeers he and Fred had nicked from Hogsmeade. He hadn't touched his beater bat in last twelve years.

He raised his hand to his chest, to feel the hand that had dropped out of the Weasley clock when Fred-died.

He took another step into the room and looked around. Walking toward the wardrobe, he opened it, not flinching in the slightest as the years of accumulated dust fell on him.

Fumbling through the clothes, he found what he had been looking for—the bright orange coat he and Fred had bought after they had started the shop downstairs. It had turned khaki with dust. Funny how a paper-thin gap between the two doors of the wardrobe could let that much dust in! He would have laughed had the situation been something else.

He held the coat in his hands and pressed his lips to it. A stray tear ran down his cheek and landed on the now-coarse fabric, making the khaki colour turn brown—just like his eyes. Just like Fred's eyes.

He remembered the day he had returned to the burrow after the war. He had broken every single mirror, because all he could see in them was Fred, with a missing ear.

He wiped the tears off. No, he would not cry. He had to be strong for him, for Fred. He had to continue the dream they had seen together—to make this world happy. He had to achieve that alone now, and he would start from himself!


	2. Gone

_Written for Harry Potter Prompts!_

Prompt:

 _Quote:_ "There it goes again. That heavy feeling in your chest when you don't feel any desire to speak or move. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep, because the process of being broken is incredibly exhausting. You attempt your best to make your days seem fulfilling, but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to connect to anyone or anything."

 _Written for Hogwarts. Event: Treasure Hunt._

Restriction: No '?'

A/N: I don't even know why I wrote this. Probably just to match the dull atmosphere of the day... read at your own risk!

* * *

 **Gone**

You settle down at the kitchen table and stare at the chair which used to be occupied whenever you sat in yours. Hermione puts a plate of breakfast in front of you; you pay no heed. Your mum hasn't cooked in days.

You look across the table: Percy is eating with his head down, not boring anyone with cauldron reports; Bill and Fleur are sitting on the couch, staring at the family clock where the hands are down to nine again; Ron has not touched the food piled in front of him; your dad hasn't asked about eckletric switches and feletones from Hermione or Harry in days. Nothing is normal.

It seems as if an army of dementors is present outside the Burrow. Has sucked the life out of it.

"Mum, can we stay here for the night," you hear Bill say.

Your chest clenches as she merely nods at him. Once, your mother would have scolded him for even asking this question.

"Fleur, you can bunk in with Hermione and Ginny," your dad says. "Bill, you can take F-Fr—Fred's bed."

There it goes again. That heavy feeling in your chest when you don't feel any desire to speak or move. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep, because the process of being broken is incredibly exhausting. You attempt your best to make your days seem fulfilling, but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to connect to anyone or anything.

The only person who could have understood you is gone.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you see Percy lower his head; he still hasn't forgiven himself.

Neither have you.

Fred didn't have to die. You could have died instead. You _should_ have died instead.

You pick up a spoon and stare at it. You find Fred staring back at you. The pain is unbearable.

The spoon drops on the floor with a _clang_. You find yourself kicking the table. Standing up, you storm out of the room. The pitiful stares of your family burn holes into the back of your head.

You don't need their pity. You don't need _them_. You don't need anyone or anything—the only person you want is gone.

 _Gone!_

That word rings in your ears. Your vision gets blurred as tears form in your eyes. Black spots appear; you see his face, and then, you see no more.


End file.
